UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


OF 

THE  AUTHGK 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 


THE  GHOST 
TOWN  LUNDY 


BY 


COL.  CHARLES  A.  LUNDY 


BOSTON 

THE  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 
1919 


Copyright,  ip/p,  by 

THE  FOUR   SEAS    COMPANY 


The    Four    Seas    Press 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


INTRODUCTION 

PERHAPS  those  sad  sweet  memories  com 
ing  from  childhood  through  the  adversities 
and  misfortunes  of  the  aging  man,  and 
developed  by  the  latter  to  vivify  the  in 
herited  knowledge  of  the  privations  and 
sufferings  of  the  fathers,  have  caused  the 
writing  of  this  history,  and  maybe  envy  and 
jealousy  have  had  their  part  in  the  crude 
performance.  For  it  was  after  I  had  read 
with  much  interest,  and  too  great  regret, 
the  able  story,  by  a  well  known  writer, 
"The  Ghost  Towns  of  the  West,"  in  which 
he  told  of  Virginia  City,  (on  the  old  Corn- 
stock),  and  Aurora,  Nevada,  and  of  the 
bloody  hollow  in  the  sage-covered  hills  of 
California,  Bodie,  that  I  set  myself  to  write, 
in  my  poor  way,  the  story  of  the  other  town, 
the  fourth,  the  younger,  the  smaller,  but 
not  the  less  wild,  less  lawless,  less  bloody ; 
but  which  is  to-day  the  most  dead  and  has  a 
ghost  more  certain  and  more  vivid  than  any 
of  its  sisters. 

Virginia,  Aurora,  Bodie  are  still  among  the 
living,  though  Bodie's  last  gasp  is  near  and 
her  bad  man  has  long  since  ceased  to  bring 
terror  to  peaceful  citizens.  In  Lundy  they 
tell  me,  "not  a  human  dwells,  and  no  build- 

5 


•atcju<>u>,s^ 


48896 


INTRODUCTION 

ings  stand,"  all  are  gone  and  the  ghost  of 
the  Red  Man  smiles  at  the  human  romance 
and  its  end.  Scowden's  mighty  walls  echo 
its  laugh  at  the  tragedy  here  begun. 

In  the  heart  of  the  Sierras,  thirty  miles 
east  of  the  famous  Yosemite  Valley,  the 
first  pioneers  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
town  that  was  destined  to  be  one  of  the 
most  lawless  of  the  lawless  West,  to  pay 
into  the  coffers  of  those  whose  feet  never 
trod  a  trail  rougher  than  a  city  street,  and 
whose  bodies  suffered  no  greater  torment 
than  an  over  fed  belly's  pain,  millions  of 
gold,  and  to  its  founders  unto  death  a 
tragedy. 

The  adversities,  the  misfortunes,  the 
hope,  the  loss,  the  grief,  the  sufferings  of 
my  people,  their  history  is  likewise  the  his 
tory  of  nearly  all  those  pioneers  who  in  the 
early  days  crossed  the  great  plains  to  the 
Gold  Fields  of  the  West.  Almost  all  of 
these  have  now  passed  the  great  divide,  but 
if  in  the  minds  of  the  few  remaining, 
though  through  a  veil  of  sadness,  I  can 
bring  a  sweet  recollection,  and  to  this  srene- 
ration  a  thought  of  their  mighty  s?crfice,  I 
am  satisfied. 

C.  A.  L. 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 


THE    GHOST   TOWN    LDNDY 


The  fates  for  some  men  weave  a  life 

That  burns  and  breaks  their  hearts  in  strife 

And  each  within  his  given  sphere 

Must  fight  for  all  that  he  holds  dear; 

Must  sacrifice  his  life  for  love, 

And  wait  reward  in  realms  above. 

The  man  who  gave  his  all  for  me 

Now  lives  but  in  my  memory; 

His  strife  is  o'er,  his  work  is  done, 

The  grave  has  closed;  all  mortal  gone 

To  dust : — yet  in  sweet  solitude 

There  comes  to  me  his  fortitude; 

The  spirit  of  the  great  beyond 

Lures  and  binds  me  to  immortal  bond. 

In  days  when  I  was  but  a  boy, 
And  knew  no  more  of  life  than  joy, 
My  father  often  told  to  me 
How,  toiling  painfully,  he'd  see 
The  hopes  that  grew  within  his  breast 
Vanish  when  misfortune  pressed; 
Confessed  the  faults  of  childhood  days, 
The  wage  that  later  manhood  pays ; 
The  tears  within  a  mother's  eyes; 
The  grief  that  brought  a  father's  sighs ; 
And  joined  these  two  in  earnest  prayer 
For  just  partition  of  a  share 
Of  lasting  happiness  and  health, 
And  some  small  bit  of  this  world's  wealth. 
[9J 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  years  have  fled  on  tireless  wings, 

But  memory  still  around  me  clings. 

I  seem  to  see  before  me  now 

My  father's  form  and  witness  how 

He  gains  his  home  with  lagging  feet, 

And  tries  to  slumber  in  hi-s  seat. 

A  worker,  wearied  by  his  toil 

In  the  hot,  dry  and  dusty  soil, 

In  vain  seeks  comfort  in  his  chair; 

Bows  his  grey  head  in  grim  despair 

To  see  his  unkempt,  bleeding  hands, 

Impaired  by  work  on  other's  lands. 

His  mighty  frame  was  bowed  with  age 

Ere  years  had  turned  his  center  page. 


When  death  had  called — ah !  then,  too  late 
I  knew  the  irony  of  fate. 
And  impotently  sought  for  power 
To  call  him  back  for  just  one  hcur; 
To  whisper  in  that  cold,  dead  ear 
The  love  aroused  and  pleading  here. 
Confined  for  years  the  flood  entire 
Came  rushing  then  in  vain  desire. 
How  often  must  a  father's  love 
Seek  sole  return  from  one  above ! 
You,  too,  may  pass  within  the  grave, 
And  leave  another  man  to  crave 
That  earnest  effort  shall  effect 
Return  to  you  for  his  neglect. 
[10] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  luring  voice  of  solitude 
Calls  man  on  mysteries  to  brood ; 
Asks  the  effect  of  love  and  hate 
Upon  his  end  or  future  state. 
Sometimes  a  silent  herald  brings 
A  saddened  hope  on  fleeting  wings ; 
A  hope  that  fills  an  aching  breast, 
Yet  yields  no  peace,  no  longed-for  rest. 
Unheeding  youth,  in  careless  play, 
With  pain  and  tears  does  age  purvey. 
Alas,  if  we  past  faults  could  mend, 
And  once  again  our  youth  could  spend, 
Would  not  each  one  then  do  his  share 
From  pain  another's  heart  to  spare  ? 


The  past  returns  and  hard  besets 

The  present  with  its  vain  regrets. 

To-day,  we  give  a  stunned  review 

To  selfish  self's  long  retinue, 

And  think  to-morrow's  smoother  road 

Will  take  this  burden  from  our  load. 

But  each  to-morrow  comes  to  pay 

Alone  the  wage  of  yesterday. 

And  thus  we  live  in  dreams  and  hope, 

While  life  reels  out  its  slender  rope 

Beyond  illusion,  to  the  truth 

That  most  of  life  has  gone  with  youth, 

And  in  its  future  grow  no  flowers 

One  half  as  sweet  as  vanished  hours. 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Yet  hope  in  mortal  never  dies. 

It  hides,  it  rests,  and  then  it  tries 

To  build  again  the  broken  form, 

And  gather  fragments  from  the  storm: — 

A  tireless  worker  in  the  fields, 

That  fights  each  step  and  never  yields 

A  single  victory  to  ill, 

Till  death  makes  both  the  claimants  still. 

How  oft,  the  promise  does  deceive, 

And  then  excuse  so  we  believe 

Expected  gains  are  but  delayed, 

And  that  our  trust  is  not  betrayed ; 

We  end  complaint,  and  dry  our  tears, 

And  calm  our  momentary  fears. 


A  weary  worker  stopped  his  plow, 

And  wiped  the  sweat  from  heated  brow. 

As  panting  sighs  upheaved  his  breast, 

Longing,  he  searched  the  distant  West, 

And  through  the  waves  of  smoky  air 

He  saw  a  fairy  vision,  where 

A  mountain  on  a  foreign  shore 

Glowed  with  the  virgin  golden  ore; 

And  rumor  brought  the  glowing  fame 

Of  paradise  in  more  than  name, 

Of  sylvan  fields,  and  babbling  streams, 

A  flora  rich  as  fancy's  dreams, 

Where  man  could  reap  what  he  would  sow, 

And  never  heart  sick  hungeiynow. 

[12] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

He  and  his  in  toiling  strife, 

Had  spent  near  all  their  days  of  life, 

And  welcomed  any  promised  gain 

From  mind's  unrest,  and  body's  pain. 

And  they,  united  all  their  bands, 

Their  wealth  of  hearts,  and  willing  hands, 

Bid  blighted  hopes  a  pleased  adieu, 

Turned  West  allured  by  hope  anew, — 

Across  the  prarie's  sunburnt  face, 

Where  neither  wheel  nor  hoof  left  trace, 

These  families  of  the  Lundy's  tread 

A  weary  way,  that  ever  led 

To  loss  and  need,  through  greed  and  hate, 

Deep  in  the  net  of  weaving  fate. 


All  the  long  way,  in  regions  bare, 
They  kept  their  road  in  grim  despair. 
The  fruit  of  nature's  pregnant  breast 
Came  freely  to  their  needy  quest. 
But  with  each  gift  the  giver  laid 
An  ill,  to  neutralize  the  aid. 
The  sun  spread  o'er  the  vision's  fold, 
A  dazzling  glow  of  yellow  gold, 
That  burnt  and  dried  each  trusting  flower 
Engendered  by  its  fathering  power. 
The  grass,  that  should  have  oxen  fed, 
Nourished  devouring  flames  instead, 
That  swept  away  the  living  bloom 
And  left  the  prairies  black  with  gloom. 

[13] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  breezes  came  with  gentle  sigh, 
And  fleecy  clouds  embanked  the  sky; 
A  cool  wave  swept  the  sweltering  plain, 
And  vitalized  faint  hearts  again 
To  battle  on  their  long  hard  way, 
Through  every  hour  of  fleeting  day. 
Then  clouds  unmasked,  and  falling  snow 
Increased  the  raging  blizzard's  blow ; 
The  sun  witheld  his  light  and  heat 
From  all  this  freezing  vapor  sheet; 
And  life  was  left  to  winter's  ire; — 
While  man  sought  shelter  and  his  fire. 
All  plant  life  died,  the  beasts  turned  tail 
And  crouched  forlorn  before  the  gale. 

The  far  horizon's  azure  blue 

Was  sullied  to  a  darker  hue. 

Inverted  cones  of  rolling  smoke 

Ascended  heavenward  and  broke; 

A  signal  of  the  wild,  red  man, 

A  warning  to  the  traveling  clan 

To  ring  their  wagons  end  to  end, 

The  savage  rage  of  fiends  to  fend. 

For  the  red  man  barred  the  white  man's 

way, 

And  harrassed  him  with  hell's  dismay. 
And  -some  there  are  who  linger  yet 
Where  warring  red  and  white  man  met, 
And  not  one  cross  of  stone  or  wood 
Now  marks  the  spot  where  martyrs  stood. 

[14] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  summer's  heat,  the  winter's  cold, 

The  raging  wind  on  frozen  fold, 

The  elements  and  nature,  all 

Combined  with  men  to  tempt  the  fall 

Of  these  peace-seeking  pioneers, 

And  wet  their  trail  with  blood  and  tears. 

The  swish  of  arrows,  twang  of  bows, 

A  circling  ring  of  flying  foes; 

The  crack  of  rifles,  spit  of  lead, 

The    moaning    wounded,    the    stark- faced 

dead, 

Were  emblems  that  their  memory  held 
Of  bleaching  bones  and  souls  unknelled, 
Of  destiny  or  wilful  fate — 
Destruction  of  a  race  through  hate. 

Near  regions  where  the  eagle  flew 
The  band  of  pioneers  drew. 
They  struggled  onward,  day  by  day, 
On  their  precarious,  unknown  way — 
Up  hills,  through  vales  and  prairie  grass, 
And  o'er  the  mountain's  rugged  pass, 
Across  the  shifting  burning  sands, 
And  through  the  blackened  lava  lands ; 
Until  the  whitened  flats  were  nigh, 
The  chalky  fields  of  alkali, 
The  sage-bound  shore  of  Mono  Lake, 
Where  desert  shadows  blend  and  break 
In  cedar  and  in  pine  tree  hedge, 
At  briny  Mono's  bitter  edge. 

[15] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Beyond,  the  massive  mountains  rise, 
Colossal  guards,  against  the  skies, 
That  vainly  strive  to  blend  their  hue 
Into  the  water's  darker  blue; 
But  only  heighten  striking  sights, 
The  frowning,  towering  jagged  heights, 
And  sparkling,  glittering,  crystal  snow, 
With  ground  of  bluish  golden  glow. 
To  North  and  South  for  countless  miles 
The  grey,  the  brown  and  slate  rock  piles, 
With  barren,  bleak,  forbidding  faces 
And  flowery,  evergreen-bound  bases, 
Pass  on  in  their  eternal  way, 
Still  paralleled  by  desert  grey. 


Below  Sierra's  gleaming  crest, 
Beyond  the  waters,  in  the  West 
The  canyon  opened  to  the  band 
The  gateway  of  a  wonder  land. 
Within  the  little  level  space 
A  garden  lay  in  laughing  grace, 
Presenting  like  a  picture  rare 
A  flowery  realm  beneath  rocks  bare, 
Which  gave  a  promise  and  consent 
To  those  whose  efforts  all  were  bent 
To  force  the  rough  unconquered  pass, 
Through  tangled  vines  and  mingled  mass 
Of  rocks,  and  trees  that  rending  slides 
Uprooted  from  the  mountain  sides. 
[16] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Ah!  tears,  and  blood,  and  even  life 
Were  given  in  that  cruel  strife 
Before  they  camped  upon  the  flat, 
The  little  fir-tree  shaded  plat, 
And  in  the  jagged  red  bluff's  shade 
In  haste  the  first  log  cabins  made. 
Gigantic  pines  were  felled  and  drawn 
Off  the  flowery  woodland  lawn, 
And  as  the  eagle's  nest  is  made, 
Unshaped,  undressed,  the  logs  were  laid — 
A  simple  and  ungarnished  plan — 
These  homely  dwellings  for  the  clan. 
But  leaping  flames  showed  smiling  faces 
Gathered  round  the  rude  fireplaces. 


Within  this  garden  of  a  God — 

They  reaped  the  blessing  of  a  sod; 

The  nymphs  of  water  and  of  woods 

Gave  freely  of  their  treasured  foods 

To  suitors  for  her  favoured  hand 

The  bounty  of  a  fruitful  land. 

The  partridge  drummed  upon  the  pines ; 

The  plumed  quail  answered  from  the  vines ; 

And  on  the  marsh  and  tule  bed 

The  water  fowl  their  legions  bred. 

In  evening  as  the  sun-light  left, 

The  speckled  trout,  in  feeding,  cleft 

The  water's  face  and  flashed  to  sight 

A  symbol  of  his  myriad  might. 

[17] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  men  swung  hard  their  heavy  sledges 
And  deeply  drove  the  iron  wedges ; 
Among  the  peaks  the  blows  resounded, 
From  every  wall  the  echoes  bounded: 
Woke  from  his  sleep  the  savage  bear, 
Who  left  his  quiet  hidden  lair; 
Then  from  his  throne  of  granite  rocks 
The  monarch  of  the  mountain  flocks 
Looked  on  the  strange  things  which  began 
With  crafty,  noisy,  planning  man. 
And  something  in  his  sluggish  mind 
Foretold  the  downfall  of  his  kind 
And  brought  to  him  a  sudden  fear 
Of  lost  domain  in  his  wild  sphere. 


His  natural  instinct  quickly  stirred, 
The  wild  buck  led  his  stately  herd 
To  seek  the  reason  of  that  sound 
That  waked  the  echoes  all  around. 
Through  forest  glades  and  woodland  lawn, 
With  nostrils  wide  from  dawn  to  dawn, 
He  scented  foes,  and  from  each  mound 
Reviewed  each  grove  and  spot  of  ground, 
Till  from  a  verdant,  distant  height; 
He  saw  the  strange  disturbing  sight; 
And  felt  the  haunting  thrust  of  dread ; 
Akin  to  thought,  that  through  him  sped. 
His  nostrils  snuffed  the  fatal  scent, 
That  told  his  breed's  extinguishment. 
[18] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Untraced  by  mark  upon  the  ground, 
Betrayed  by  no  incautious  sound, 
An  Indian  gained  the  outer  edge 
Of  a  near  over-hanging  ledge ; 
There  by  the  red  rock  calm  and  still, 
He  stood  unseen  against  the  hill. 
The  silent,  subtle  savage  knew 
That  those  within  his  searching  view 
Foredoomed  the  grandeur  of  his  power, 
To  race  and  realm  a  final  hour. 
In  thoughtful  and  resenting  mood, 
He  mused  and  saw  no  brotherhood 
Unite  the  red  and  white  man's  hand. 
A  feud  had  come  to  stalk  the  land. 


Unconscious  that  so  many  eyes 
Thus  watched  in  hate  their  enterprise, 
The  workmen  mingled  toil  with  song, 
And  built  each  cabin  warm  and  strong; 
Then  when  the  wearing  day  did  pass 
And  tools  lay  idle  on  the  grass, 
To  rest  they  laid  their  aching  frames 
Where  the  leaping  camp  fire  flames 
Lured  dreams  of  future  happiness 
To  fill  their  hearts  with  joy  fulness. 
They  heeded  not  the  wild  wolf's  howl, 
The  doleful  hoot  of  the  wise^owl, 
A  prophet's  word  that  seemed  to  say 
No  man  can  know  his  destined  way. 

[19] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Yet  no  complaint  was  ever  made 
By  these  lone  children  of  the  glade, 
No  cry,  no  call,  lament  or  moan 
From  out  this  lonely  mountain  zone. 
Grim  disappointment  left  no  trace 
Of  sad  misfortune  on  each  face. 
The  joy  and  sorrow  that  there  met, 
They  paid  together  as  one  debt. 
History  records  no  name, — 
The  grave  has  both  their  life  and  fame. 
The  loss,  the  woes,  the  hardships  known, 
The  tears,  the  grief,  the  valor  shown, 
Are  locked  within  earth's  silent  breast 
And  dust  to  dust  returns  the  rest. 


Ah !  in  a  dream  I  live  to-day 

And  beauty  that  has  passed  away 

Around  me  lies  as  when  a  child 

I  roamed  the  Sierra's  verdant  wild, 

And  sought  the  forest  and  the  glade 

About  the  foot  of  each  cascade, 

Or  mystic  rainbow's  golden  end 

Where  Mammon's  fairies  shouM  descend. 

Or  rambled  o'er  huge  Scowden's  walls, 

All  flecked  with  tiny  waterfalls, 

And  little  plots  that  even-where 

Inlay  the  flat  of  each  rock  stair 

With  pretty  flower's  sweet  array  . 

A  rainbow  here  in  florid  spray. 

[20] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

When  the  dark  shadows  of  the  night 
Have  driven  back  the  fading  light, 
The  silver  ripples  of  the  lake 
A  darker  color  quickly  take, 
The  cotton  woods  and  stately  pines 
Blend  together  in  dark  lines 
Against  the  ghostly  granite  grey: 
And  twilight,  here,  has  come  to  play 
A  moment  with  the  gathering  shades, 
Ere  it  withdraws  and  slowly  fades 
Away  from  mountain  and  from  dale, 
And  leaves  the  peaks,  in  sunspread  veil, 
Displaying,  with  a  mien  intense, 
The  dearth  of  man's  omnipotence. 


That  distant  sky  line  in  the  West, 
Around  the  brown  stone  mountain's  crest, 
Where  frowning,  ice-clad,  cold  and  bleak, 
Stilettoed  crag  and  granite  peak, 
Rise  from  a  field  of  sparkling  snow 
To  pierce  the  fleecy  clouds  that  flow 
And  turn  the  sun's  bright  golden  flood 
To  playing  flames,  to  end  in  blood. 
The  dying  day's  last  rays  are  spent, 
And  night  her  somber  shroud  has  sent. 
The  light  from  earth  fades  soft  away, 
Or  floats  beyond  with  passing  day, 
And  leaves  the  land  in  darkest  hue, 
With  nothing  but  the  stars  in  view. 

[21] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

And  then  the  morning  throws  its  light 

Upon  a  most  entrancing  sight. 

The  bleak  bare  peaks  and  banks  of  snow 

Are  covered  with  a  golden  glow ; 

While  vale  and  town  are  hidden  still 

In  the  dark  shadows  of  the  hill. 

Beneath  the  snow-clad  wintry  height 

The  icy  waters  start  their  flight, 

Beginning  in  a  crystal  thread 

Among  the  mighty  boulders  spread, 

They  rush  together  as  they  flow 

And  to  a  little  river  ;jrow, 

That  leaps  the  cliffs  and  strikes  the  rock 

With  flying  foam,  and  roaring  shock. 


And  as  the  gilded  light  extends 
And  on  the  vale  below  descends, 
It  lights  the  charging  river's  way, — 
The  foamy  stream  in  ceaseless  play, 
And  wild  the  tireless  waters  rush 
Through  cotton  wood  and  under-brush; 
By  evergreen  pine-covered  hills, 
Enticing,  grasping  bubbling  rills, 
That  playing  under  fragrant  bowers 
Would  stay  to  woo  the  modest  flowers; 
Then  onward  through  the  valley  romps, 
To  slacken  at  the  boggy  swamps, 
And  stills  and  stays  its  wild  outbreak, 
To  form  in  majesty  a  lake. 

[22] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Then  Scowden's  shadow  in  retreat 
Discloses  buildings  crude  but  neat 
That  cluster  at  the  monster's  foot, 
Where  nature  once  a  forest  put. 
Within  the  narrow  deep  ravine, 
Which  towering  bluffs  completely  screen; 
Between  the  colored  mineral  walls, 
Below  the  roaring  water  falls; 
Beginning  at  the  mountain's  base 
And  spreading  on  the  level  place, 
Across  the  vale  from  ledge  to  ledge, 
And  downward  to  the  water's  edge, 
Along  the  rushing  river's  way 
The  little  hamlet  Lundy  lay. 


The  cabins  stood  in  broken  lines, 
Each  built  of  rocks  and  fallen  pines, 
A  lumber  shapeless,  rough  and  crude, 
The  workmanship  unskilled  and  rude. 
Each  mighty  beam  had  to  resist 
Colossal  forces  that  persist 
In  conquering  all  that  does  delay 
Within  the  region  of  their  sway. 
The  solid  rock  and  sturdy  wood, 
Before  the  winter's  charges  stood 
Alone,  to  guard  the  mortal  life 
Of  man  from  devastating  strife. 
A  fortress,  not  a  form  of  beauty, 
Man  built  to  do  this  vital  duty ! 

[23] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

As  an  old  master's  painting  sways, 
This  picture  man's  attention  stays, — 
Commencing  at  the  village  street, 
And  lying  like  an  azure  sheet 
Of  glass  between  the  monster  hills, 
A  mighty  basin  nature  fills 
With  icy  water  from  the  drifts 
Of  melting  snow  upon  the  cliffs. 
Begirt  with  firs  and  sugar  pines, 
And  mass  of  climbing  wild-rose  vines, 
The  lake,  a  mirror,  that  portrays 
In  doubled  beauty,  all  that  lays 
Within  the  border  of  its  sphere, 
To  everyone  who  lingers  here. 


Above  the  hamlet  a  full  mile, 
Upon  the  mighty  granite  pile, 
Seldom  had  man  before  this  day 
Beheld  the  wondrous  scene  that  lay 
Afar  in  spheres  of  rock  and  snow, 
And  chasms  yawning  deep  below. 
The  vault  of  heaven  cold  and  grim 
Meets  the  horizon's  distant  rim : 
And  awes  the  mind  at  depth  of  space 
Where  time  and  tide  have  left  no  trace. 
Surmising  life  immortal  near, 
The  heart  of  man  must  yield  to  fear 
At  his  short  time,  and  small  converse, 
In  purpose  of  the  universe. 

[24] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

And  on  this  lofty  dismal  height, 
Just  as  the  day  returned  to  night, 
Foot-sore  and  weary  with  his  climb 
And  heedless  of  the  passing  time, 
Will  Lundy  crossed  the  mountain's  breast, 
Reached  the  last  great  jagged  crest 
And  stopped,  as  the  astounding  view, 
In  darkening  shades,  revealed  anew 
The  awful  grandeur  of  the  land. 
Some  fiend  of  hell  sustained  the  hand 
That  to  destroy  this  earth  had  sought, 
And  all  this  fearful  chaos  wrought; 
Left  wounds  agape  and  bottomed  deep, 
His  victim  in  unconscious  sleep. 

Though  strong  of  limb  and  broad  of  chest, 
The  big  man  stood  likt  one  depressed 
By  awe,  that  seemed  his  will  to  stay, 
And  bind  it  with  its  hidden  sway; 
His  weary  mind  and  troubled  soul 
Caught  the  spell  that  o'er  it  stole. 
His  pack  he  laid  on  the  rugged  reef 
And    straightened    his    frame    with    much 

relief, 

For  he  had  come  a  tiresome  way 
Through  trackless  wilds  day  after  day, 
With  ready  step  on  slippery  mass 
Of  shrubs  and  rocks  in  every  pass, 
And  eyes  hard  strained  for  hidden  breaks 
Of  quartz  that  bore  the  golden  flakes. 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Alone  on  the  great  water  shed, 

Whence  seemingly  all  life  had  fled, 

He  sat  and  watched  the  fading  light 

Impelled  by  the  ascending  night 

Away  from  canyon,  vale  and  hill, 

Retaining  only  stark  and  still, 

A  solitary  barren  peak 

Snow  clad  and  dreary,  grey  and  bleak. 

And  he  forgot  each  ache  and  bruise, 

And  let  his  mind  begin  to  muse 

On  realms  unseen,  and  promised  peace 

To  souls  that  mortal  ills  release 

To  seek  reward,  but  what,  and  where? 

In  seeming  nothing  but  thin  air. 


The  silent  argument  of  space 
Persuades  the  man  to  its  embrace; 
In  the  dark  void  there  flashed  a  star, 
Then  many  more  through  space  afar; 
And  in  their  dim  light  reason  spoke, 
And  a  long  sleeping  truth  awoke; 
A  spirit  from  those  twinkling  orbs 
That  gently  holds,  and  thought  absorbs 
Until  the  tale  of  life  is  told; 
And  plans  of  the  Divine  unfold 
To  show  the  hand,  and  guiding  art, 
That  yet  will  bring  each  doubtful  heart 
In  reach  of  that  majestic  tide 
Where  every  star  and  sun  abide. 
[26] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Then  Boreas  from  out  the  North, 
Like  one  long  hindered  hastens  forth, 
And  swept  the  ridge,  with  shriek  and  moan 
That  chilled  the  dreamer  to  the  bone, 
And  startled  him  to  sudden  need 
Of  journeying  homeward  with  more  speed. 
He  quickly  swung  his  heavy  pack 
Upon  his  broad  and  sturdy  back, 
And  carefully  down  the  gorges  crept; 
But  loosened  rocks  that  whirled  and  leapt, 
Like  wanton  fiends  in  cloak  of  night 
Do  ravish  in  their  fiendish  might, 
An  avalanche  with  deafening  roar, 
Was  hurled  upon  the  canyon  floor. 


Across  his  path  the  landslide  left 
A  dusty,  deep  and  crumbling  cleft, 
And  rocks  that  flashed  a  falling  ray, 
Perhaps  the  last  of  dying  day; 
With  a  laborious  wrench  he  tore 
The  gleaming  piece  from  out  the  ore. 
He  had  pursued  the  golden  scent ; 
And  like  all  men  of  fighting  bent, 
With  heart  near  breaking  with  the  load, 
Had  trod  the  rough  and  rocky  road 
Of  hope,  that  led  where  most  men  knew 
Success  would  wait  and  greet  but  few 
Of  those  tired  toilers  in  life's  game ; 
But  death  instead  would  meet  and  claim. 

[27] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Hope  mingled  still  with  sickening  qualms, 

He  crushed  the  mass  within  his  palms, 

And  broken  quartz  and  sticky  clay 

Fell  off,  and  in  his  hands  there  lay 

The  long  elusive  grains  of  gold; 

Ah!  there  before  his  eyes  unfold 

The  fruitful  end  of  this  event 

For  him  a  day  of  sweet  content. 

Such  hope  of  happiness  was  shown 

As  he  or  his  had  never  known. 

Then    thoughts    returned     from    pleasant 

birth, 

And  changing  into  sudden  mirth 
He  broke  the  spell  with  happy  shout, 
That  echoed  round  and  round  about. 

Joy  threw  the  old  discouraged  weight 

That  long  had  been  his  constant  mate, 

Out  from  its  snug  and  cherished  rest 

In  his  disheartened  worried  breast. 

A  lightness  o'er  his  being  stole, 

A  peace  to  body,  mind,  and  soul, 

And  broke  the  bonds  that  wretched  years 

Had  forged  with  many  hoarded  fears. 

He  saw  his  lean,  malignant  past 

Succumb  beneath  success  at  last, 

And  those  whose  hair  had  streaked  with 

grey 

Because  of  want  on  life's  hard  way, 
Could  live  their  few  remaining  years 
With  neither  toil  nor  want  nor  tears. 
[28] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Yet  in  the  shadows  of  that  night 
A  grim  and  treacherous  parasite 
Stalked  near  to  share  a  hoped  repast 
With  death,  on  doleful  grief  recast. 
To  mock  sweet  joy  with  bitter  pain 
And  crush  the  fruit  of  his  first  gain; 
For  joy  but  urged  his  homeward  speed, 
And  he  forgot  the  constant  need 
Of  careful  step,  and  marking  stop, 
Before  he  leaped  from  top  to  top 
Of  rocks,  where  vines  and  ferns  entwine; 
To  hide  the  rough  and  steep  incline; 
To  glut  the  parasite's  desire, 
With  death,  to  feast  on  grief  entire. 

With   flesh   cut    deep   and   smeared   with 

blood, 

He  reached  the  vale  and  swam  the  flood 
Of  waters  that  a  moment  rest 
From    their    wild    dash    from    mountain's 

crest ; 

Then  picked  his  way  across  the  moor, 
Until  he  reached  his  cabin  door. 
And  soon  about  the  great  fireplace, 
With  expectation  on  each  face, 
The  families  all  were  gathered  round 
To  hear  of  riches  he  had  found 
Upon  the  side  of  the  great  peak 
Where  none  had  climbed  or  dared  to  seek, 
And  in  each  heart  his  tale  did  start 
Again  the  hopeful,  joyful  part. 
[29] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Up  steep  and  arduous  mountain  sides 

Through  solid  rock,  o'er  glacial  slides, 

They  toiled,  like  busy  honey  bees, 

To  make  the  trail,  and  mighty  vees 

Rose  end  to  end  up  to  the  top, 

One  starting  at  the  other's  stop. 

A  winding,  rough  and  narrow  thread 

To  scenes  that  fill  with  anxious  dread 

Each  one  who  stops  at  its  mid  height 

To  gaze  astounded  at  the  sight ; 

Above,  a  thousand  feet,  the  sphere 

Of  granite  rises  bold  and  sheer; 

Within  the  welkin's  azure  sheet 

The  snow-capped  earth  and  heaven  meet. 


A  deep  and  clear  abyss  of  air, 

With  just  a  bare  crag  here  and  there 

Out- jutting,  from  the  great  grey  wall, 

To  break  the  swift  unhindered  fall 

Of  stones  that  some,  in  wonder,  throw 

To  the  bewitching  vale  below ! 

And  then  the  mountain  torrents  gleam, 

Like  ribbons  in  the  sun-light's  beam, 

The  tiny  log  built  town  appears, 

Afar  between  the  giant  spheres, 

An  atom  in  a  mighty  land, 

Encircled  by  a  massive  band 

Whose  towering  walls  might  well  enfold 

And  leave  no  sign  of  what  they  hold. 

[30] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

But  nature's  beauties  quickly  draw 
The  thoughts  away  from  fear  and  awe; 
The  trail  turns  sharply  from  the  edge 
Of  the  appalling,  narrow  ledge, 
And  winds  beneath  great  sugar  pines 
And  clinging  honeysuckle  vines, 
To  a  little  valley  set 
With  flowers,  green  and  silver  net 
Of  trees  and  ferns  and  waving  grass, 
And  tiny  lake,  a  looking  glass, 
Extending  from  its  mirror  face 
A  dozen  pyramids  base  to  base. 
An  Eden  fairer  than  the  first 
And  by  no  angry  God  accurst. 


Colossal  cones  of  myriad  hue, 
Twined  in  the  water's  silver  blue 
Bordered  with  white  and  yellow  flowers 
And  the  dark  green  of  forest  bowers; 
Above  the  greyish  masses  frown 
On  porphyry  slopes  of  golden  brown, 
And  sliding  slabs  of  dark  blue  slate 
That  ponderous  pressures  dislocate. 
These  end  in  mounds  of  gleaming  snow, 
Immaculate  and  all  aglow. 
Beneath  the  wooing  orb  of  day 
They  take  each  warm  enticing  ray 
Without  return  of  love  or  tear, 
Untouched,  unfeeling,  cold  and  drear. 

[31] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

An  Eden  beautiful,  alone 

Within  the  wild  and  cheerless  zone; 

And  yet  so  near  the  last  frontier, 

A  spirit  seems  to  domineer 

From  that  domain  beyond  the  earth, 

And  mind  is  near  immortal  birth. 

Might,  in  silence,  here  reveals 

What  rushing,  noisy  life  conceals; 

And  thought  brings  forth  emotion  strange; 

And  man  delights  to  search  the  range 

Of  wondrous  magic  here  displayed, 

For  that  eternal  force  that  laid 

A  fairy  garden  rich  and  rare, 

In  desolation  rough  and  bare. 


Here  something  stirs  the  mortal  brain, 
And  dulls  the  heart  with  aweing  pain ; 
It  brings  the  rebel  passions,  all, 
In  answer  to  the  luring  call 
Of  nature's  symbols  as  they  write 
The  record  of  a  boundless  might. 
And  argument's  disclaimer  stills 
Before  the  eloquence  of  hills. 
This  silent  presence  comes  to  show 
What  thinking  minds  still  seek  to  know; 
The  doubter  yields  beneath  the  sway 
Of  the  eternal  certain  way, 
And  loses  in  this  mountain  dale 
The  unbeliever's  pathless  trail. 

[32] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  first  arriving  of  the  group 

The  trail  laid  here  with  many  a  loop; 

For  everywhere  it  leads  away 

From  trees  and  beds  of  flowers  that  lay 

In  the  straight  line  of  their  survey, 

As  if  a  silent  spirit's  sway 

On  man,  had  held  his  hands  from  haste 

That  might  have  laid  much  beauty  waste. 

The  old  trail  winds  beneath  the  pines 

In  broken,  fading  time-blurred  lines. 

Often  it  skirts  the  valley's  edge 

Below  a  towering  granite  ledge, 

Then,  turning  to  the  center,  goes 

Within  the  fields  of  fern  and  rose. 


And  then  again  the  trail  ascends, 

With  many  curves  and  turns  and  bends, 

To  heights  above  the  timber  lines 

Where  some  old  lonely  pine  reclines, — 

A  squatty,  bent  misshapen  tree 

That  from  its  own  kind  seems  to  flee, 

As  though  aware  of  its  defect 

It  would  go  there,  where  none  inspect 

The  crime  that  nature  gave  to  bind 

A  life  away  from  its  own  kind ; 

To  live  alone  without  a  mate, 

Until  design  of  ruling  fate 

Ordains  that  death  correct  the  fault, 

And  take  the  victim  from  revolt. 

[33] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Still  climbing  far  above  the  vale, 
Where  colors  fade,  and,  growing  pale, 
Blend  softly  with  the  grey  and  white 
That  everywhere  pervades  the  sight, 
The  trail  goes  upward,  winding  back 
And  forth  upon  its  perilous  track 
Across  the  mass  of  loose  rock-slides 
That  fill  each  gulch  of  the  mountain  sides. 
It  goes  on  past  the  last  lone  tree, 
And  ends  beneath  the  snow-clad  lee 
Of  that  colossal,  frozen  ridge 
That  reaches  in  a  monster  bridge 
Of  ice,  from  earth's  extending  arm 
To  realms  beyond  terrestrial  charm. 


And  here  it  was  that  happy  night, 
In  evening's  fast  dissolving  light, 
That  William  Lundy  saw  the  gleam 
About  the  quartz-encrystalled  seam, 
And  knew  that  he  need  search  no  more,- 
That  he  had  found  the  golden  ore. 
With    plying  shovel,  drill  and  sledge, 
Men  drove  within  the  porphyry  ledge, 
Along  the  quartz  vein's  winding  course 
A  tunnel  to  the  golden  source. 
And  from  each  cliff  and  peak,  the  peal 
And  clang  of  striking  steel  on  steel, 
Reechoed;  with  the  duller  thump 
Of  rocks  they  cast  out  on  the  dump. 

[34] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Near  by  each  man  staked  out  a  claim 

And  gave  to  it  a  loved  one's  name ; 

Yet,  though  they  worked  the  whole  wide 

field, 

But  one  returned  a  golden  yield — 
The  first  one  found — May  Lundy  Mine, 
A  mount  of  wealth,  a  friend  benign, 
That  promised  to  enrich  each  man 
Of  all  this  wandering  Lundy  clan. 
Then  hard  they  labored  for  the  prize, 
This  hope  held  out  before  their  eyes; 
They  filled  with  ore  small  canvas  sacks, 
And  these  they  packed  on  sturdy  backs 
Of  mules  that  wound  their  slow  way  down 
O'er  the  long  trail,  from  mine  to  town. 

A  giant  wheel  turned  in  the  stream, 

Its  whirling  paddles  threw  a  beam 

Of  silver  light  among  the  rays 

Of  sunny  summer's  golden  days. 

It  never  rested,  never  stopped, 

But  night  and  day  the  water  dropped 

From  little  buckets  to  a  trough 

That  quickly  bore  the  water  off, 

To  mingle  with  the  sacks  of  ore 

The  workers  emptied  out  before 

The   huge    flat   rocks   the   wheel   dragged 

round, 

And  all  the  ore  to  powder  ground ; 
Released  the  heavy  gold  which  sank, 
And  the  light  mud  ran  from  the  tank. 
[35] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

And  when  the  summer  months  had  passed 
They  gathered  all  the  clay  amassed 
Within  the  deep  capacious  cracks — 
Beneath  the  traveling  flat  rock's  tracks: 
Then  placed  it  all  within  a  sort 
Of  double  bowl,  for  the  retort, 
And  under  one  a  hot  fire  burned, 
The  virgin  gold  to  liquid  turned 
And  lay  within  the  cooling  mould 
Until  a  semi-sphere  of  gold 
Came  forth,  with  neither  flaw  nor  dent, 
In  bullion  ready  for  the  mint, 
Which  in  the  early  spring  returned 
The  coin  their  summer  labor  earned. 


Though  large  'was  not  excessive  pay 

For  the  rough  labors  of  their  day; 

And  not  a  profit  all  unearned; 

Nor  could  it  give  the  comfort  yearned ; 

But  its  extent  so  far  surpassed 

Their  earnings  in  that  long  hard  past, 

That  it  brought  forth  a  sweet  content 

And  seemed  a  heavenly  blessing  sent. 

They  owned  the  land  on  which  there  stood 

The  cabins  crude  and  rough,  but  good; 

Their  needs  were  every  one  supplied, 

And  only  luxuries  denied ; 

No  want  nor  worry  made  them  fret 

In  all  the  world  they  owed  no  debt. 

[36] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Here  in  the  depth  of  mountain  realms, 
They  lost  the  care  thrt  overwhelms; 
Amid  the  wild,  delightful  scenes, 
They  found  a  home,  and  all  it  means. 
Their  needs  were  met,  their  troubles  fled. 
Their  hands  and  hearts  no  longer  bled 
Beneath  the  blows  of  fruitless  toil; 
And  fortune  sent  no  ill  to  foil 
The  plans  that  new  ambition  laid, 
Or  kill  the  joy  their  building  made. 
A  new  life  dawned  from  out  the  night 
Of  gloom  and  sadness  and  the  light 
Gave  promise  that  the  bitter  day 
Of  life  lay  on  the  vanished  way. 

****** 

A  little  cloud  of  rumor  grew, 

And  from  the  mist  there  quickly  flew 

A  mass  of  tales  (as  falling  rain 

Enlivens  even  dying  grain), 

So  these  aroused  the  dying  fire 

In  hearts  of  men  who  did  aspire 

To  clear  their  ways  of  clogging  weeds, 

And  fill  their  hearts  with  golden  seeds. 

From  near  and  far  a  motley  band 

Of  humans  sought  the  rumored  land, 

All  lured  by  the  beguiling  tale 

Of  gold  about  the  mountain  vale; 

And  soon  they  filled  the  little  camp 

With  people  of  a  different  stamp. 

[37] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  woman  with  the  scarlet  fame, 
The  woman  whom  no  scandals  name, 
The  crafty  gambler  and  his  game, 
The  outlaw  and  the  good  man  came. 
Then, — like  the  ants  that  build  a  home 
For  countless  numbers  'neath  a  stone, 
To  get  protection  from  the  weather 
In  dwelling  thus,  all  together, — 
A  little  city  soon  was  laid 
Within  the  mighty  mountain's  shade, — 
Built  of  great  logs  and  heavy  rocks, 
To  best  withstand  the  winter  shocks; 
A  world  within  the  Sierra's  heart, 
Far  from  the  greater  world  apart. 

The  gambler  built  a  cosy  den, 
Built  to  attract  these  homeless  men ; 
Hung  with  pictures  of  women  fair, 
Or  master-pieces,  rich  and  rare; 
And  their  great  beauty  served  to  draw 
Both  bad  and  good  men  to  the  maw, 
Which   sucked  the  blood   from  out  their 

veins, 

And  blotted  reason  from  their  brains. 
And  here  roulette  and  farobank, 
Draw-poker  games  and  montebank, 
Spread  out  along  each  pictured  wall, 
On  either  side  of  the  long  hall; 
And  few  were  they  who  thither  came 
And  did  not  stay  to  play  a  game. 

[38] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  turning  card,  the  rolling  ball, 
The  clink  of  gold,  the  dealer's  call, 
Enticed  the  watcher  to  the  play 
And  balked  resistance.     He  would  stay 
To  shout  with  winner's  laugh  of  glee; 
Or,  looser,  sit  and  silently 
Behold  his  last  small  silver  coin 
Go  forth,  the  winner's  gold  to  join. 
And  in  the  morning's  golden  light, 
He  walked  as  one  still  bound  in  night, 
With  brain  that  fumbled  in  the  dark 
With  its  ill  thoughts  so  ghostly  stark 
That  every  spur  of  manhood  fled, 
And  all  desire  of  good  was  dead. 


Across  the  way  a  large  dance  hall 

Allured  the  idler  by  the  call 

Of  music's  sweet,  entrancing  sound 

To  dance  with  women  scanty  gowned, 

And  wet  his  lips  with  many  a  glass 

Of  wine.    Thus  time  would  quickly  pass, 

And  leave  each  one  with  tainted  mind, 

And  no  respect  for  self  and  kind. 

When  morn  the  sleeping  world  awoke, 

Illusions  of  the  dreamer  broke; 

These  wrecks  of  lust  came  slowly  out 

To  stagger  blindly,  and  in  doubt 

Of  all  except  the  scorching  blast 

Of  scorn,  from  passion's  wasted  past. 

[39] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

And  everywhere  along  main  street, 
Through   swinging   doors   there    came    to 

greet 

Each  passerby  the  fragrant  scent 
Of  liquor  that  these  mortals  spent 
To  quench  the  thirst's  desiring  fire, 
And  burn  the  sap  of  life  entire; 
Until  the  soul's  enclosing  shell 
Held  all  the  flames  of  burning  hell. 
But  drink  they  did,  as  drink  they  will, 
And  many  now  are  lying  still 
Beneath  the  desert's  fragrant  sage, 
Who  played  their  last  scene  on  this  stage 
Too  well  to  then  perceive  the  fault, 
That  hell,  for  them,  was  earthly  wrought. 

Ah!  these  men  versed  in  hellish  arts; 
With  tearless  eyes  and  griefless  hearts; 
The  faults  they  owned,  the  errors  made, 
The  love  unshown,  the  hate  displayed, — 
And  even  those  who  reached  the  brink 
Too  soon  beneath  the  clutch  of  drink, 
As  you  and  I,  were  children  born 
To  love  and  joy,  and  not  forlorn 
To  die  impenitent ;  and  you  and  I 
Will  see  the  shadow,  by  and  by, 
Lift  from  pride  and  selfish  greed, 
Neglectful  care  for  doubtful  meed, 
And  that  their  faults  are  part  our  own, 
And  we,  like  them,  must  this  atone. 

[40] 


But  other  men  went  on  their  way 
From  honest  labors  of  the  day; 
The  clink  of  gold,  the  wine-filled  glass, 
Or  smiling  lips  of  dance-hall  lass, 
Were  no  temptations  set  before 
The  pleasures  at  their  cabin  door, 
Where  many  children  played  about 
With  healthy  laugh  and  happy  shout. 
The  good  and  bad  lived  side  by  side 
And  some  to  stay  the  other  tried ; 
But  bad  men  killed  with  reckless  hand 
Each  other  in  this  lawless  land, 
And  one  by  one  they  passed  away ; — 
The  dawn  looked  on  their  riddled  clay ! 

****** 

It  was  a  lonely,  little  zone, 
To  every  sort  of  mortal  known. 
Where  mingled  every  character 
The  greater  world  could  register; 
Of  every  color,  every  race, 
No  breed  of  man  but  that  could  trace 
Its  blood  among  the  horde  that  came 
To  play  with  life  in  that  grim  game 
Upon  the  vast  unmeasured  board, 
Where  not  a  miser  chanced  to  hoard 
A  single  pawn,  beyond  the  day 
That  fate  arose  within  his  way, 
And  broke  the  last  sustaining  lance 
That  life  laid  in  the  game  of  chance. 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

A  few  had  come  just  to  forget, 
In  this  wild  life,  a  deep  regret, — 
Perhaps  some  single  chance  mistake 
Which  men  seem  ever  doomed  to  make. 
When  youth  is  in  the  passion's  sway, 
Then  youths  with  dangers  often  play, 
And,  too,  without  a  wish  or  thought 
That    harm    to    man    be    through    them 

wrought. 

So  these  had  come  to  the  far  West 
Hoping  to  ease  the  pain  that  pressed : 
A  sorrow  of  another  place 
Which  time  could  never  there  erase, 
Or  lessen  the  distressing  sting 
That  well-known  scenes  and  faces  bring. 

Some,  like  the  first,  had  come  to  seek 
A  home  beneath  the  gleaming  peak, 
And  in  the  great  uncovered  fields 
The  treasure  Fortune  sometimes  yields 
Those  whom  mischance  does  not  suppress 
Before  the  barriers  of  success, 
And  leave  to  float,  poor  as  before, 
Far  from  a  safe  and  happy  shore. 
Good  men  and  women  tried  and  true, 
Here  still  kept  their  God  in  view, 
And  lost  no  worth,  nor  honor  spared 
That  they  both  joy  and  sorrow  shared 
With  many  who  had  lost  their  all 
And  sought  in  life  no  joy  at  all. 

[42] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

And  then  there  came  those  silent  men 
Who  claimed  no  law  of  citizen. 
They  seldom  smiled  and  never  laughed, 
Nor  of  the  wine  cup  deeply  quaffed, 
But  lavished  gold  and  bought  the  smile 
That  tried  with  vain  art  to  beguile 
Those  who  had  heard  the  whisper  drear 
Of  death,  who  ever  lingers  near. 
Quick  of  hand  and  sure  of  eye, 
They  wore,  down  low  on  either  thigh, 
A  deadly  gun,  the  trusted  friend 
On  which  the  outlaw  did  depend 
For  the  few  hours  he  would  abide 
On  life's  untreasured  mortal  side. 

They  had  defied  and  broken  law, 
And  now  it  sought  with  hungry  maw 
To  grip  within  its  spreading  ban 
Each  outcast,  outlawed,  hunted  man ; 
And  close  and  vengefully  it  pressed 
Them  far  and  ever  farther  West. 
They  sought  to  hide  in  mountain  bowers, 
And  spend  their  few  unharrassed  hours 
Within  those  lawless  mining  camps, 
Where     mingled     men     from     saints     to 

scamps — 
They    asked    not    why,    nor    whence    they 

came, 

Or  questioned  past  or  present  fame; 
But  went,  each  one,  his  chosen  way, 
And  let  the  other  go  or  stay. 
[43] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

They  moved  with  soft  and  crafty  step, 
And  one  hand  near  a  weapon  kept; 
Always  intent,  alert,  prepared; 
While  all  their  human  hopes  were  shared 
By  warnings  of  the  thoughts  that  haunt 
Man,  when  crime's  awful  specters  daunt, 
With  knowledge  that  Time's  delay 
Avoids  no  debt  that  wrong  should  pay. 
Their  hearts  grew  cold  a  spleen  of  hate 
Alone  their  souls  could  animate, 
And  each,  a  lonely  wolf,  did  dwell 
His  day  upon  the  verge  of  hell, 
With  no  desire  for  earthly  love, 
Or  any  hope  of  peace  above. 


And  here  their  loneliness  to  drown, 
Within  the  heedless  little  town 
They  came,  alone  and  unafraid, 
To  spend  much  gold  on  bar  and  maid. 
Their  stay  was  short,  their  pleasures  few, 
Their  gold,  like  frightened  ravens,  flew 
Away;  then  silently  the  spender  went, 
And  none  asked  why  or  whither  bent. 
Perhaps  each  watcher  did  surmise, 
For  none  showed  any  great  surprise, 
When  rumor  said  a  distant  stage, 
Its  passengers  in  futile  rage, 
Had  given  treasure  on  demand 
Of  outlaw's  two-gun-backed  command. 
[44] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Sometimes  a  daring  passenger, 
Or  trained,  expectant  messenger, 
Withstood  the  robber's  deadly  might, 
And  there  was  then  a  bloody  fight; 
Each  man  well  played  the  hellish  game, 
And  each  was  sure  of  his  first  aim, 
But  one  was  quicker  on  the  draw, 
He  made  no  fumble,  left  no  flaw, 
His  gun  flashed  fire  an  instant  first; 
The  other  stiffened,  fell  to  earth; 
The  flesh  had  gone  back  to  its  clay, 
A  soul  had  passed  upon  its  way 
To  realms  of  dread,  or  joys  above, 
To  hate  of  hell,  or  heaven's  love. 


No  pen  can  well  portray  the  town 
In  those  days  of  its  wild  renown, 
And  ill  it  is  to  draw  the  side 
Where  evil  and  its  art  reside, 
And  tell  no  tale  of  those  who  gave 
Their  hearts,  and  some  their  lives,  to  save 
A  semblance  of  the  law  and  right, — 
Almost  foredoomed  tg  lose  the  fight. 
For  there  were  many  men  who  fought 
Against  the  ill  the  lawless  wrought; 
And  time  gives  certain  aid  to  all 
Who  battle  and  refuse  to  fall 
Before  the  wall  of  pressing  shields 
A  momentary  victor  wields. 

[45] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Good  men  and  women  played  their  part 
Within  the  great  Sierra's  heart ; 
The  first  to  come  they  laid  their  claim, 
But  greater  numbers  played  the  game 
With  tricks,  and  methods  wrong  and  bold, 
That  shed  men's  blood  for  greed  of  gold; 
And  shook  brave  hearts  with  frightful  fears, 
And  dimmed  good  eyes  with  honest  tears. 
Out-matched,  out-numbered,  not  out-braved, 
And  not  retreating,  they  but  saved 
Their  energy,  until  the  hour 
Debauchery  would  wreck  the  power 
Of  crime,  and  right  and  wrong  transpose 
To  free  the  vale  of  evil's  woes. 

And  when  the  flowery  summer  time 

Drove  far  away  the  winter's  rime, 

The  boys  and  girls  roamed  in  the  brakes, 

Or  floated  about  the  little  lakes 

Their  white-winged  sails  bulged  with  the 

breeze 

That  whispered  to  the  nodding  trees 
The  tale  of  love,  through  ages  told, 
The  tale  that  never  will  grow  old. 
The  roar  of  mighty  water-falls 
Drown  not  fair  nature's  silent  calls 
To  life,  in  youth  and  age,  to  play, 
And  leave  the  sorrows  of  the  day 
Forgotten,  with  their  loneliness, 
While  mortals  feast  in  happiness. 

[46] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

And  when  the  moon  with  silvered  glow 
Tipped  all  the  mountains  high  and  low, 
The  families  gathered  round  before 
Another's  hospitable  door ; 
And  some  one  tuned  his  old  banjo 
To  melodies  of  long  ago, 
Entrancing,  dreamy,  soft  and  low, 
The  notes,  in  honeyed  cadence,  flow 
Sublimely  in  harmonious  streams 
Of  music,  to  mind's  lofty  dreams. 
And  then  the  moon  sank  in  the  West, 
And  midnight  darkness  bid  each  guest 
Begone  upon  his  homeward  way, 
Ere  morn  disclosed  another  day. 


When  green  leaves  turned  to  amber  brown, 
And  breezes  spread  them  through  the  town, 
Alone  the  pine's  and  cedar's  smile 
Would  greet  the  autumn's  frosty  wile; 
And  gentle  murmurs  swelled  to  groans 
Of  angry  winds,  from  Northern  zones, 
That  brought  the  word  from  winter's  mouth 
To  send  the  feathery  rovers  South. 
The  bluebell,  lily,  rose  and  fern, 
Before  the  coming  winter's  stern 
Repelling  face,  now  paled  and  died, 
And,  held  in  death's  relentless  tide, 
They  vanished  from  all  mortal  sight, 
The  victims  of  the  winter's  might. 

[47] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  lake,  its  wide-swept  bosom  chilled, 
Its  restless  waters  calmed  and  stilled, 
Its  ripples  gone,  its  mirror  hid: — 
Not  one  majestic  pyramid 
Displayed  its  grandeur  'neath  the  sheet 
The  raging  wind,  and  pelting  sleet 
Within  a  single  night  had  spread 
In  armor  on  the  water's  bed. 
And  all  about  the  first  snow  fall 
Had  laid  a  gleaming  frozen  shawl; 
And  only  pine  and  cedar  tree 
Shook  all  their  mighty  branches  free, 
While  the  remaining  mountain  land 
Lay  mastered  by  the  winter's  hand. 


The  fair  days  of  the  passing  fall 
Allured  with  their  resistless  call 
Each  healthy  lad  and  winsome  lass, 
To  come  upon  the  field  of  glass, 
And  spend  the  day  in  joyful  play 
On  gliding  skates,  and  sliding  sleigh. 
The  shadows  deepened  and  the  nights 
Were  dotted  here  and  there  with  lights. 
In  each  rock-bound  and  sheltered  cove 
And  open  fire  or  camper's  stove 
Threw  fickle,  changing  light  and  shade, 
And,  of  the  skaters  phantoms  made 
That  glided  round  the  whitened  shore, 
Like  ghostly  mysteries  of  yore. 

[48] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  coasting  with  its  healthy  sport 
Drew  worth  and  goodness  to  its  court. 
With  muscles  tense,  on  metal  steed, 
They'd  rush  with  every  quickening  speed 
Through  the  invigorating  air, 
That  drove  away  all  carking  care, 
But  threatened  all  their  limbs  to  freeze, 
Gripped  by  the  icy,  maddened  breeze, 
Until  they  struck  the  field  below 
A  gliding,  sliding,  whirling  blow; 
And,  sledless,  sat  upon  the  ice; 
Rebounding  often  once  or  twice, 
Amid  the  laughs,  and  teasing  calls 
Of  all  who  saw  the  graceless  falls. 


While  youth  beneath  the  autumn  skies, 
Loved  and  joined  hands  in  exercise ; 
Pursued  their  way  toward  better  health, 
A  wiser  boon  than  sordid  wealth; 
The  gambler  in  his  smoky  den, 
Played  his  ill  game  with  many  men; 
His  face  was  pale,  his  hands  were  white, 
For  dissipation  killed  his  might. 
His  eyes  alone  were  sharp  and  bright, 
And  searching  everyone  in  sight; 
But  not  a  muscle  did  portray 
A  sign  of  any  passion's  play, 
As  chance  for  or  against  him  laid, 
And  gains  he  claimed  or  losses  paid. 

[49] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  call  of  truth  from  virtue  near, 
Unheeded  reached  the  women's  ear, 
Who  held  life's  cup  to  painted  lip, 
And  would  its  contents  idly  sip 
Until  their  souls  were  lust-enthralled, 
By  right  and  wrong  no  longer  called ; 
And  mind  without  a  single  thought 
That  ever  good  to  any  wrought. 
These  women,  young  and  beautiful, 
To  passion's  call  quite  dutiful, 
Denied  their  gifts,  and  faces  painted, 
Enslaved  their  souls,  and  bodies  tainted,- 
Their  happiness  and  honor  sold 
For  just  a  tiny  piece  of  gold. 


A  group  of  miners  smoked  and  drank, 
And  played  the  game  of  faro-bank; 
A  drunken  cowboy  staggered  o'er 
The  wet  and  slippery  barroom  floor, 
And  with  an  ill  disguised  pretense 
Bumped  into  one  who  took  offense; 
A  silence  fell,  foreboding,  t^nse, — 
A  dreadful,  gripping,  grim  suspense 
On  all, — till  with  the  speed  of  hell 
Two  hands  upon  their  weapons  fell. 
As  one,  both  guns  together  spoke; 
The  rising  cloud  of  powder  smoke 
Unfolded  from  the  dread  display 
Of  art,  by  artists  in  gun-play. 

[50] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  vantage  asked  by  crime  had  won; 
The  cowboy's  grim  design  was  done. 
Yet  wary  hand  still  held  the  gun 
With  muzzle  threatening  everyone. 
For  he  was  one  of  ill  repute, 
Experienced  well  in  such  dispute, 
And  knew  the  fate  that  often  waits 
The  man  who  fails  or  hesitates. 
The  motive  that  impelled  the  deed 
And  sent  the  miner  to  death's  meed, 
Might  lie  within  the  silent  past, 
And  he  deserve  this  fate  at  last. 
Or  was  it  just  desire  to  kill 
That  then  the  outlaw's  heart  did  fill. 


Many  a  man  in  this  rough  band 

Died  quickly  by  another's  hand ; 

But  generally  knave  killed  knave, 

And  there  was  little  wish  to  save 

One  from  the  other's  deadly  art. 

None  tried  to  keep  these  foes  apart. 

A  drunken  brawl,  a  woman's  sneer, 

A  hunted  man's  defending  fear; 

The  killer's  mad  and  hellish  creed 

To  draw  and  shoot  with  lightning  speed- 

These  symbols  of  the  region's  vice 

Were  reasons  that  did  well  suffice 

To  bring  grim  death  in  bloody  fight, 

And  all  the  spleen  of  savage  might. 

[51] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

But  time  soon  brought  the  frightful  days 
When  might  opposed  the  evil  ways, 
And  good  men  died  and  good  men  bled, 
Before  the  flying  bits  of  lead. 
They  formed  a  fierce  relentless  clan 
That  held  the  trail  of  each  bad  man, 
Until  the  vulture's  sentinel 
Proclaimed  the  wretched  sinner's  knell. 
These  bloody  trails  were  thus  the  last 
Some  grim  avengers  ever  passed. 
Perhaps  a  jaded  horse  returned, 
A  message,  to  the  hearts  that  yearned, 
Of  loss  and  horror,  grief  and  tears ; 
The  woe  of  death  to  quench  their  fears. 


Then  winter  with  its  terror  came 

To  play  a  part  within  the  game 

Of  life  and  death,  and  feeble  man 

Was  gripped  in  the  colossal  plan. 

And,  stripped  of  courage  and  its  might, 

They  shrank  together  in  affright, 

Forgot  their  enmity  and  hate, 

They  who  had  laughed  and  sneered  at  fate ! 

The  harlot  and  the  dancing  jade; 

The  faithful  wife,  and  virgin  maid; 

Good  men,  and  men  in  evil  wrought, 

Stood  side  by  side  in  troubled  thought, 

Awaiting  the  expected  end 

That  neither  good  nor  bad  could  fend. 

[52] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  leaden  clouds  embanked  the  skies, 
And  hid  the  peaks  from  mortal  eyes; 
The  sun  retreated  to  the  North, 
And  not  a  single  ray  came  forth; 
The  wind  subdued  had  passed  away, 
And  everything  grew  bleak  and  grey ; 
While  countless  flakes  of  crystal  snow 
Fell  on  the  whitened  land  below. 
The  stately  pine's  huge  limbs  were  bent, 
And  broke  before  the  storm's  descent; 
And  cabins  disappeared  below 
The  fearful  fall  of  blinding  snow. 
The  atmosphere  was  strangely  still, — 
An  omen  of  oncoming  ill. 


Resourceful  man  had  no  defense 
Against  the  awful,  dread  suspense; 
And  every  mortal  stood  in  awe 
Of  foes  they  neither  heard  nor  saw, 
But  knew  were  forming  o'er  their  heads, 
On  rocky  cliff  and  old  snow  bed, 
Were  gathering,  massive  hour  by  hour, 
The  units  of  resistless  power. 
Till  countless  tons  of  snow  and  ice 
Arranged  a  murderous  device, 
That  rolled  down  the  mountain  side 
And  crushed  beneath  its  swelling  tide 
All  sign  of  human  work  and  plan, 
And  life  of  brute,  and  plant  and  man. 

[S3] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

From  out  that  misty,  clouded  zone 
A  murmur  came,  a  mournful  moan 
Grew  to  a  rumbling,  dreadful  roar, 
That  passed  the  steep  descent  before 
The  terror  of  the  mountain  realms, 
The  soulless  monster  that  o'erwhelms 
Resisting  nature's  mighty  power; 
Wrecks  years  of  labor  in  an  hour. 
Men's  ears  were  deafened  by  the  sound 
Of  forests  tearing  from  the  ground; 
And  fear  pressed  then  its  piercing  dart 
Within  the  hardest  mortal  heart, 
And  all,  like  little  children  there, 
United  in  an  humble  prayer. 


Within  the  little  mountain  town, 
One  day  before  its  first  renown, 
Beneath  a  fragrant,  giant  pine 
The  life  first  beat  in  heart  of  mine. 
And  baby  years  were  haply  spent 
In  this  foe  filled  environment. 
A  friend  in  each  belligerent; 
A  home  at  every  battlement; 
I  shared  with  outlaw,  and  with  her 
Whom  passion  and  emotions  stir 
No  more  beneath  her  grief  and  joy, 
The  happy  favor  of  a  boy. 
Perhaps  my  childish  prattle  brought 
Some  sinner  back  to  better  thought. 

[54] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  voice  that  menaced,  harsh  and  cold, 
As  it  demanded  another's  gold ; 
The  eye  that  shone  with  dangerous  lights 
As  it  stared  through  six-shooter  sights, 
Surrendered  to  the  babe  that  played 
Where  stalwart  men  ne'er  delayed 
To  help,  with  friendly  hand  or  word, 
The  man  neglect  and  error  stirred. 
The  voice  that  whispered  in  my  ear 
Was  loving,  gentle  and  sincere; 
And  I  saw  tears  within  the  eyes, 
And  felt  a  breast  upheave  with  sighs. 
And  knew  that  every  heart  would  beat 
With  love,  if  love  it  once  could  meet. 


Often  I  saw  the  face  of  one 

Who  died  before  another's  gun; 

The  pallid,  cold  and  silent  clay, 

That  was  a  man  but  yesterday, 

Had  passed  by  crime's  predestined  road 

And  brought  my  heart  a  heavy  load. 

And  baby  eyes  unashamed  did  weep 

O'er  outlaw  in  eternal  sleep. 

No  one  can  trace  the  future  way 

Of  broken,  wretched,  bleeding  clay; 

No  one  can  tell  if  tears  are  vain, 

Which  fall  for  some  grim  outlaw's  pain; 

No  prayer  so  low  but  will  be  known 

Which  asks  that  mercy  thus  be  shown. 

[55] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Each  outlaw  passed  this  well-marked  way, 
And  reached  the  sunset  of  his  day, 
The  end  of  strife  against  the  might 
Of  tireless  time,  and  deathless  right. 
A  body  sick  with  passion  wild, 
And  erring  mind  by  crime  beguiled, 
Too  ill  to  see,  or  yet  suppose 
Supreme,  the  forces  that  oppose. 
Thus  many  mortals  come  to  fall, 
Broken  and  bent  against  the  wall 
Of  obstacles,  that  right  erects 
Wherever  time  its  might  elects 
To  use ;  and  then  the  rebel's  breath 
Obtains  no  aid  from  aught  but  death. 


But  time  accounted  not,  to  man, 

Attaining  its  inevitable  plan; 

It  took  alike  both  good  and  bad, 

And  left  the  living  stunned  and  sad; 

For  outlaw  and  opponent  died 

In  final  battles  side  by  side ; 

Their  blood  was  mingled  in  the  sand, 

And  their  flesh,  too,  allied  in  land. 

Strange  will  that  brings  a  clod  to  life, 

The  toy  of  terror,  ills  and  strife, 

The  king  of  nothing,  pawn  of  chance, 

A  knight  that  lays  in  rest  his  lance 

Alike  for  truth  or  error's  lie; 

To  fight  and  bleed,  and  then  to  die. 

[56] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Their  end  was  one,  both  fighters  fell 
Before  the  will  no  men  repel. 
The  noble  and  the  outlaw  knave 
Both  came  to  rot  within  the  grave ; 
Not  always  from  the  deadly  lead 
Was  greedy  death  its  morsel  fed, 
For  winter's  wild  destructive  storms 
Took  toll,  in  crushed  and  battered  forms. 
And  finite  men  did  seem  forgot, 
Their  strength  and  worth  reckoned  not, 
When  nature  loosed  her  mighty  powers 
From  those  colossal  granite  towers, 
And  underneath  that  murderous  blow 
Crushed  half  the  valley  down  below. 


Stern  nature  always  spurred  her  own 
To  rule  again  the  mountain  zone ; 
Her  elements  were  all  arrayed 
To  kill  or  frighten  all  that  stayed. 
The  snow  in  eddying  torrents  fell 
On  rocky  ridge,  and  meadowed  dell, 
And  massed  before  the  sweeping  air 
That  came  coercing  everywhere; 
Combined  with  rocks  and  loosened  earth 
The  avalanche  was  given  birth. 
And  fire,  too,  lent  destructive  aid ; 
The  town's  notorious  decade 
Ended  in  smoke  and  fiendish  flame, 
To  live  again — but  as  a  name. 

[57] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

There  is  a  lonely  dismal  spot, 
A  little  sagebush-covered  plot; 
A  monument,  an  empty  shell, 
Above  the  dead  stands  sentinel; 
A  graveyard  of  the  days  long  past 
Now  all  forlorn,  where  time  at  last 
Has  swept  the  words  and  lines  away, 
And  filled  their  place  with  somber  grey. 
Few  tombs  show  record  now  or  name, 
And  unkempt  graves  look  much  the  same. 
These  dead,  forgotten,  give  no  sign 
From  whence  their  lineage  or  line ; 
Without  distinction  grey  dust  claims 
The  ones  with  cursed  or  honored  names. 


A  scanty  pine  grove  scarcely  covers 
The  graves  of  these  old  freedom  lovers ; 
A  few  wild  flowers  bud  and  bloom 
Within  the  melancholy  gloom; 
Upon  the  harlot's  grave  the  rose 
In  just  as  sweet  profusion  grows 
As  where  the  virgin  lies  serene. 
In  life  and  death  all  men  are  seen 
To  differ  in  the  road  they  tread, 
The  love  imbued,  the  rancor  spread, 
And  life's  rough  circle  each  one  drew 
Until  they  meet  to  start  anew  ; 
For  dust  they  were,  and  dust  ordains 
All  mortal,  of  men,  alike  remains. 

[58] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

I  muse  tonight  on  man's  release, 
And  endless  search  for  final  peace, 
My  heart  is  filled  with  sorrows  dread, 
O'er  thoughts  of  these  my  old  home's  dead; 
The  questions  that  seem  vainly  asked 
Perhaps  are  answered  by  their  past; 
Does  not  each  death  but  just  repay 
To  earth  its  borrowed  bit  of  clay? 
Is  this  first  circle  mortals  thread 
But  just  improved  and  wider  spread; 
The  evil  road  with  break  and  swerve, 
The  way  of  truth  a  perfect  curve, — 
Will  not  the  soul  in  evil  hand 
Return,  like  clay,  to  its  birth  land? 


The  world  rolls  on  its  endless  way 
As  man  draws  near  his  final  day; 
Nor  aids  nor  stays  a  struggling  one, 
But  breeds  the  mass  with  neutral  sun; 
And  men  will  come  and  men  will  go 
Beneath  its  rays  like  melting  snow 
Which  comes  today,  tomorrow  flees, 
Returning  to  the  mother-seas. 
This  melting  snow  but  changed  its  form 
And  comes  once  more  in  winter's  storm 
To  dampen  all  the  breast  of  earth, 
And  bring  fresh  life  again  to  birth. 
The  endless  round  will  never  cease, 
Or  by  a  single  drop  decrease. 

[59] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

It  seems  a  certain,  changeless  plan 

Compels  the  destiny  of  man 

To  pass  through  ill,  and  loss,  and  pain 

And  from  adversity  to  gain 

A  greater  knowledge  of  the  laws 

That  ignorance  is  evil's  cause. 

And  this  experience  must  learn 

Before  man  can  the  evil  spurn; 

And  time  indeed  is  reckoned  not, 

Nor  yet  the  individual  lot, 

In  guiding  the  unthinking  horde 

To  stand  upon  the  monster  board, 

Where    pawns     consist    of     worlds     and 

suns ; — 
A  game  that  souls  with  wonder  stuns. 

The  fates  the  masses  will  defend. 
What  God  has  made  can  never  end. 
Yet  men  may  wander  far,  alone 
Within  a  faithless,  Godless  zone; 
The  law  of  progress  then,  but  yields 
Then  to  the  force  rebellion  wields ; 
And  lets  them  enter  in  that  hell 
Where  idle,  thoughtless  humans  dwell. 
But  when  they  cross  the  last  frontier, 
Will  they  not  gain  the  better  sphere? 
Are  souls  less  gifted  than  the  snow, 
Reborn  with  neither  pain  nor  throe, 
To  nourish  life's  fresh-springing  flowers? 
Oh !  surely,  man  regains  lost  powers. 
[60] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

I  listen  to  the  learned  today, 
And  to  the  wise  of  yesterday 
Discussing  mortal  life  and  fate, 
And  in  their  grave  and  stern  debate 
They  use  much  swaying  eloquence, 
That  leaves  a  questioned  consequence. 
Their  many  arguments  commend 
Attention,  but  no  proofs  attend, 
And  all  the  words  of  sage  and  bard 
Convince  me  not,  nor  do  retard ; 
My  hopes  remain,  my  fears  reverse ; 
Advancement  rules  the  universe 
And  every  atom  has  its  part 
Predestined  in  the  Creator's  art. 


When  the  old  town's  last  embers  died, 
Its  checkered  past  was  crucified: 
The  fickle  mob,  unhoused,  had  fled 
And  left  its  ash  to  shroud  its  dead. 
A  few  old  pioneers  alone, 
Who  loved  some  spot  within  the  zone, 
Returned  to  build,  in  better  mould, 
What  evil  had  so  long  controlled. 
And  on  the  grave  of  many  a  heart 
A  new  town  grew  with  feeble  start, 
To  struggle  on  from  year  to  year, 
A  lonely  hope  in  this  vast  sphere 
Of  avalanche  and  wilderness, 
Which  human  strength  could  not  impress. 
[61] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  old  log  cabins  ne'er  returned; 
All  but  their  memory,  was  burned ; 
Though  the  new  town  more  beauty  traced, 
The  crude  old  one  was  not  replaced. 
The    street — now    wide,    and    laid    quite 

straight, 

With  walks  and  lights  to  decorate, 
Seemed  quite  misplaced  within  the  vale 
That  better  knew  the  rougher  trail. 
The  painted  wall  and  gabled  roof 
Seemed  but  a  foolish,  vain  reproof 
Against  the  ponderous  works  that  broke 
Beneath  a  foe's  first  master  stroke; 
And  passed,  a  gaseous,  greyish  cloud, 
Within  its  smoke-grime  blackened  shroud. 

Again  the  village  many  sought, 
And  all  their  failings  with  them  brought, 
A  mingled  horde  of  many  breeds, 
Swayed  by  full  as  many  creeds; 
But  held  within  the  pale  of  law 
That  each  revolter  plainly  saw 
No  longer  he  could  void  or  break 
And  not  repay  with  loser's  stake. 
Once  more  the  gambler  brought  his  game ; 
And  smiling  dance-hall  women  came 
To  lure  with  passion,  chance  and  wine, 
The  gold  from  toilers  in  the  mine ; 
But  seldom  did  the  rising  sun 
Greet  the  work  of  a  slayer's  gun. 
[62] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  laden  stage  rolled  in  and  out 
Unstopped  by  the  familiar  shout, 
"Hands  up !"  which  men  in  haste  obey. 
Nor  saw  they  now  a  bandit  slay 
With  certain  and  uncanny  speed, 
And  too,  without  a  bit  of  need 
Some  hesitating,  plodding  man, 
Who  failed  to  heed  the  spoiler's  ban. 
The  certain  eye,  the  lightning  hand; 
No  more  were  needed  in  this  land, 
And  men  could  go  to  work  or  fun 
Without  the  burden  of  a  gun; 
Or  fear  this  bareness  might  invite 
The  snuffing  of  their  mortal  light. 


This  realm  of  blood  and  death  and  crime, 
Was  as  a  quiet,  peaceful  clime, 
Where  never  man  had  man's  blood  spilled 
Or  mortal  hand  a  mortal  killed. 
And  many  lips  framed  silent  prayer 
At  vanquishment  of  that  despair 
Which  fills  the  heart  with  hate  and  fear 
When  strife  a  land  does  domineer. 
But  who  marked  not  the  sorrow,  too, 
That  crept  into  the  hearts  that  knew 
The  price,  the  lives,  the  value  lost; 
The  tears,  the  grief,  that  triumph  cost ; 
The  men  who  lived  with  memory, 
And  smiled  from  hearts  of  misery. 

[63] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

A  strangeness  filled  the  atmosphere, 

Giving  all  things  an  aspect  queer, 

For  from  the  old  familiar  creek 

There  came  no  more  the  rasping  squeak 

Of  wooden  wheels  that  jerked  and  turned, 

And  noisily  the  water  churned. 

The  water  wheel  no  longer  dripped, 

Or  on  its  tireless  errands  tripped; 

The  old  arrastre  stood  quite  still, 

Its  work  done  by  a  better  mill, 

The  rumble  of  whose  falling  stamp 

Hurled  echoes  all  about  the  camp, 

And  drowned  the  murmur  of  the  calls 

That  came  before  from  water  falls. 


The  groaning  mules  now  came  no  more 
From  Scowden's  top  with  sacks  of  ore ; 
Each  stepping  slowly  and  with  care, 
For  fear  a  rock  might  slip  or  tear. 
Their  place  was  taken — threads  of  steel 
And  swaying  buckets  turned  a  wheel, 
And,  parallel,  propelled  themselves 
O'er  yawning  gorge  and  rocky  shelves. 
As  servant  to  designing  greeds, 
Man  made  to  labor  what  he  needs. 
From  mine  to  mill  the  slender  rope 
Ran  up  and  down  the  rugged  slope; 
One  half  accloy  with  wealth  of  hill, 
The  other  gaunt  from  greed  of  mill. 

[64] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  lakes  and  streams  were  dammed  and 

bound, 

And  overflowed  the  land  around, 
The  waters  lapped  a  foreign  shore, 
And  beauty  flourished  here  no  more ; 
The  hedge  of  lilies,  and  of  roses, 
Beneath  the  water  now  reposes ; 
And  pretty  dress  and  fragrant  breath 
Soothe  not  this  saddened  home  of  death. 
The  forests,  burned,  and  left  to  rot, 
Their  former  green  a  dusky  blot, 
Where  careless  hand  of  man  debased 
A  verdant  realm  to  barren  waste. 
When  industry  her  progress  plies, 
Much  native  worth  and  beauty  dies. 

And  e'en  the  harnessed  waters,  too, 

Were  made  the  miners  work  to  do ; 

No  murmuring,  playing  on  their  way: 

Their  courses  dried  in  heat  of  day. 

Confined  the  liquid  atoms  pressed, 

In  tapering  tubes  down  the  mountain's  breast, 

Until  a  water  arm  of  steel 

Sent  in  a  maddening  whirl  a  wheel 

Which  built,  within  a  slender  wire, 

An  omni force  of  flameless  fire, 

That  did  revert  as  it  began, 

To  whirling  wheel  and  work  again; 

Propelled  machines  in  mill  and  mine, 

And  lit  the  dark  of  vespertine. 

[65] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  narrow  tunnel  was  dug-a»d  deep 
And  crosscut  in  the  granite  steep. 
Deep  in  the  giant's  mighty  heart 
Man  forced  on  his  destructive  dart. 
The  stony  vitals  ripped  and  tore 
Away  from  veins  of  gold-filled  ore, 
And  from  the  vaults  of  Scowden's  breast 
The  hidden  hoard  of  treasure  wrest. 
To  earth  the  Lord  decreed  this  dower, 
To  man,  desire,  and  cause,  and  power 
To  win  this  wealth  and  by  its  aid 
The  depth  of  heaven  to  invade: 
But  when  men  shall  disclose  its  use, 
Will  not  their  record  show  abuse? 


Before  the  days  of  its  decline 
The  first,  the  rich  May  Lundy  Mine, 
Made  many  haughty  millionaires, 
And  broken  ties  among  their  heirs. 
But  neither  in  the  founder's  clan, 
It  left  them  just  as  they  began, 
Except  that  some  had  passed  away; 
The  others  older  grown,  and  grey 
Through  years  of  hard  relentless  toil, 
And  broken  hopes  that  fate  did  foil 
With  grim,  untiring  crushing    hand 
Wherever  they  had  tried  to  stand. 
Yet  each  one  fought  until  the  last 
And  smiling  to  oblivion  passed. 
[66] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

Here  man  no  longer  battles  man; 
The  Sierras  breed  no  outlaw  clan; 
But  nature  never  knows  defeat; 
Her  mighty  forces  ne'er  retreat. 
She  yet  commands  the  towering  heights; 
Disdains  the  claim  of  other  rights, 
And  crushes,  kills,  and  still  destroys 
Intruders,  just  as  petty  toys. 
Today  the  battle  she  has  won : 
Of  all  the  webs  the  mortals  spun, 
But  two  weak  strands  remain  to  show 
The  seed  they  planted  long  ago : — 
A  mass  of  graves — a  few  grey  hairs 
That  soon  will  lie  with  their  forbears. 


The  mine  is  silent  as  before 

They  took  its  wondrous  wealth  of  ore; 

The  ghost  of  its  illustrious  past 

Pervades  the  subterranean's  vast 

Extent,  with  mockery  of  must, 

And  solitude's  accumulated  dust, 

And  grips  the  mind  of  man  with  dread, 

Like  catacombs  of  ancient  dead. 

And  grim  forgotten  tragedy 

Comes  pleading  to  the  memory; 

Its  specters  silently  pass  by, 

As  troubled  minds  do  vainly  try 

To  picture  good  for  ill-spent  gold ; 

While  derelicts  alone  unfold. 

[67] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  bucket-laden  cableway 

Is  sagged  and  loose,  a  castaway. 

This  traveller's  high,  aerial  round 

Above  the  rough  untrodden  ground, 

Has  ended,  its  busy  hum  is  hushed; 

Its  latticed  girders  bent  and  crushed; 

It  lies  far  down  the  mountain  side 

At  times  beneath  a  rocky  slide. 

A  worker,  worn,  near  life's  last  days, 

Just  left  unused  and  time  decays, 

And  wastes,  the  strength  that  does  remain 

In  desolation's  idle  reign: 

These  strands  of  steel,  in  crumbling  rust 

Will  reach  the  common  goal  of  dust. 


The  thunder  of  the  crushing  mill 
Is  hushed,  its  giant  stamps  are  still, 
And  on  the  shivered,  copper  plates 
The  muck  of  time  accumulates ; 
The  swallows  nest  beneath  the  eaves, 
And  with  the  rat  and  chipmunk  leaves 
The  offal  of  their  busy  fold, 
Where  man  once  gathered  virgin  gold. 
The  mountain  lion  snarls  and  growls, 
At  the  intrusion  of  the  owls. 
The  darting,  whirling,  somber  bat, 
Disturbs  the  slumber  of  the  cat; 
And  life  that  first  this  region  knew 
Returns,  today,  to  start  anew. 
[68] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  crystal  lake's  blue  mirrored  face, 

Where  mountains  once  stood  base  to  base, 

Reflection  doubling  an  Eden  rare, 

The  false  in  water,  the  real  in  air, 

Now  is  a  flat  of  yellow  clay; 

And  no  reflections  on  it  play; 

Its  shores  are  strewn  with  rotting  stumps, 

And  pine  and  fir's  fire  blackened  lumps. 

But  see!  a  honeysuckle  hedge 

Is  building  here  about  the  edge; 

The  sweet  and  pretty  flower  entwines 

About  a  few  small  baby  pines: 

Perhaps  some  eye  in  ages  hence 

Will  view  the  old  magnificence. 


The  trail  that  wound  among  the  trees, 

And  up  the  mountain  in  huge  "v's," 

Is  now  untrod  and  dimly  traced; 

The  hand  of  time  has  near  erased 

This  memorable,  rocky  thread 

That  man,  with  awe  and  wonder,  tread. 

The  peaks,  snow-capped  at  peerless  heights, 

Still  show  to  men  entrancing  sights, 

Eternal  mien,  and  might  sublime, 

Unscathed  by  man,  or  rage  of  time ; 

And  gently  their  great  shadows  throw 

Across  the  lonely  dale  below, 

And  veil  the  wrecked,  deserted  town, 

The  charnel  house  of  its  renown. 

[69] 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

With  walls  pierced  through  and  roofs  caved 

in, 

Left  a  mere  prey  to  nature's  whim, 
A  few  old  shacks  remain  to  show 
Where  many  men  in  vain  did  sow 
Their  hopes,  and  life,  through  fleeting  years 
Of  slender  joys,  and  broader  tears, — 
And  now  the  fruit  of  all  their  toil 
Returning  back  to  native  soil. 
And  where  the  clustered  buildings  stood, 
And  logs  decayed,  the  vanished  wood 
Comes  forth,  unhurt,  from  dormant  seed, 
An  infant  host,  with  wondrous  speed, 
Springs  up  to  claim  its  rightful  own; 
To  sylvan  once  again  the  zone. 

The  silence  reigns,  we  hear  alone 
The  waterfall's  clear,  crystal  tone, 
Which  seems  to  tell  each  native  ear 
No  enemy  is  lingering  near. 
The  stately  buck,  with  fearless  tread 
Tramps  on  a  famous  hunter's  head; 
His  timid  roe  and  playful  fawn 
Graze  on  the  sleeping  hunter's  lawn. 
And  far  above  the  valley  stands 
A  red  man,  gazing  on  the  lands ; 
The  phantom  calmly  views  the  scene 
As  one  well-blessed  with  vision  keen; 
Then  fades  from  sight,  in  pleased  content, 
Revenged  for  all  his  banishment. 


THE  GHOST  TOWN  LUNDY 

The  village  Lundy  is  no  more, 

And  memory  now  locks  the  door 

On  children  who  once  worked  and  played, 

And  erred  and  strove;  and  each  day  made 

Their  human  fight  with  fate  and  chance 

And  mortal's  common  ignorance. 

Repentant  souls  that  prayed  alone, 

And  hearts  whence  all  the  joy  had  flown. 

The  crime,  the  goodness  they  displayed, 

Rewards  received,  or  penance  paid, 

Are  only  known  to  those  still  hearts 

That  in  this  drama  played  their  parts ; 

And  these  alone  know  all  the  cost 

Of  man's  sad  end,  with  hopes  that  lost. 

THE    END 


[71] 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


PS 
3523 


Lundv  - 


L972g  The  ghost  town 
Lundy . 


-HUN  8    1959 


PS 

3523 
L972g 


3  115800513  1403 


DC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000254600    o 


